Something More
by LadyBoston
Summary: Pre-RENT. After April's death, Mark and Roger become closer than ever. MR. Cutting.
1. A History

I was sitting cross-legged on Roger's bed, watching him sleep. It was sort of a habit that I picked up several months ago, and since then, it had become a hard one to break.  
  
When April died.. God, it felt like yesterday, but ironically, yesterday felt farther away than we could reach. In reality, I didn't know how long it had been since then. I spent my days trying to 'be there' for Roger, afraid that the minute I left the apartment, my roommate would need me. Both of us, I suppose, had lost all sense of time.  
  
Of course, I went out on occasion, because someone had to buy food, even though I was the only one who ever ate anymore. Roger had lost a lot of weight, and I knew that he was uncomfortable with himself. I think that was more a question of mentality, though. You know, like he didn't feel good in his mind. He was trapped, sort of, and you could almost imagine his heart beating it's little wings inside of his ribcage, wanting desperately to break free.  
  
There were no drugs to carry him away anymore, but I often caught him staring down at the street below. I think he wanted to fly, in both a literal and a metaphorical sense.  
  
---  
  
Mark was watching me. I could feel it. It didn't really bother me anymore, though. I knew that he couldn't sleep without making sure I was alright, and often, I pretended to be calm so that he could get some rest. His well- being was more important than mine.  
  
I think that was where I went wrong with April. God, April..  
  
See, I loved her. I really did, there's no denying that. Only maybe it wasn't the kind of love I thought it should be, you know? We started out as friends, and that was how I always imagined us. It came as quite a surprise when she told me she loved me. I didn't know what to say, so I told her that I loved her, too. I mean, I thought I did- I wanted to protect her, I wanted to be there for her. When she talked about marriage and children together, it didn't feel right to me. That wasn't the kind of love we were supposed to share.  
  
I don't think I really understood the difference between 'loving someone' and 'being in love.' Only now that I'd said it, how could I take it back? How could I hurt her?  
  
But I did hurt her, and she died.  
  
That was because of me. 


	2. Consequence of Laughing

Roger seemed restless, and I was afraid that he might be having a nightmare. "Hey," I murmured, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. He rolled over onto his side, and as he settled into his blankets, his breathing became soft and shallow. He looked so helpless, and I had to turn away. I hated seeing him like this, because he seemed so vulnerable.   
  
Standing, I walked towards the large wooden rocking chair in the corner of Roger's room. I reached for a sheet on the floor and pulled it around my shoulders as I folded my legs beneath me.   
  
---   
  
Mark had fallen asleep in his chair.. our chair. We'd bought it at a flea market for three dollars. That was when we first moved into the loft.   
  
Sitting up, I slipped out of bed and padded towards the door. I heard Mark call my name, questioningly. He sounded so comfortable, I couldn't bother him with my problems. He needed to sleep, I told myself, and I'd be alright on my own.   
  
"Bathroom," I whispered, and I was surprised at how rough my voice sounded. I froze for a moment, when I turned to look at him. His smile would've reflected mine if I hadn't been frowning.   
  
---   
  
Roger left the room, and I stared at his empty bed as tears filled my eyes. I wanted to stop him in the hall, take him in my arms, hold him and make all his hurting go away. Still, it seemed so useless, because I couldn't heal him, and I knew that.   
  
Holding the sheet around myself, I followed him quietly. 


	3. Her Name Was April

Closing the bathroom door, I turned the lock. I hated this bathroom. I could still see the blood smeared across the tile, even though Mark had scrubbed and re-scrubbed every surface until his skin was raw. He'd done it for me, he'd done everything for me, and all I could do was close myself off from him.   
  
Best friends didn't do things like that. What kind of a friend did that make me?   
  
I climbed onto the ledge of the bathtub, pushing one of the cheap cardboard rectangles up to reach for a shoebox I'd hidden in the ceiling. As I sat on the toilet seat, I pulled it open. Inside, I kept April's old things. I'd memorized the contents, but still, I often took the box down to look at them. A t-shirt, her journal, ticket stubs. A small bottle of her perfume, and her razor.   
  
Her razor..   
  
Before she met me, she was a good person. She wanted to be an artist, and she had potential. Before she met me, I reminded myself. Before I ruined her. I forced myself to remember that it was me who'd pulled her down into a world made of mirrors. Yeah, mirrors that magnified self-disgust.   
  
There was one scar on my body for every time I'd hurt someone. It had started with April, one scar for each of the times I'd caused her pain. And then I'd realized that I'd hurt others as well, and I decided that their suffering should not go unnoticed. That would be selfish of me.   
  
When I was younger, I'd wanted to die a martyr. It sounded like a very grand way to die, I thought. Now, I knew that I didn't deserve to be remembered as a man who had suffered for anything. No, everyone else had suffered for me.   
  
Stifling a sob, I raked the razor across my arms, getting closer and closer to my wrists.   
  
April had always insisted that we share everything. 


	4. Clumsy

I stood outside the door, afraid to knock. It was so quiet, like death had settled inside with Roger.   
  
Suddenly, it snapped inside of my head. I dropped the sheet and threw myself at the door, trying to break it down somehow. I almost thought that I might push right through it, like a ghost.   
  
The sound of Roger's crying fueled my fear somehow, and I managed to force the door open, falling onto my hands and knees. Later, I would be glad that our loft came equipped with such cheap locks.   
  
He was bleeding everywhere, and I reached for his hands, holding them tightly in my own.   
  
---   
  
I stared at Mark, eyes wide, and honestly, I don't know who was more afraid at that moment. He was crying, and I was crying too. I felt like such a failure, such a fucking failure, but at the same time I hated him for having known.   
  
"Let me go," I heard myself shouting, but he moved his hands to my wrists, protecting them.   
  
"I can't.." Mark shook his head, and his eyes met mine. "I can't watch you go through with this, watch you leave me the way April left us. That's what she did, Roger, she left us. Not just you. You're not the only one who's hurting here.."   
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I bit my lip, turning away.   
  
"..but I know that you must be hurting a lot. I've given up everything to be here with you. I've had to hide my own grief, to help you deal with yours. And you know, Roger, I really didn't mind that I had to give things up for you. I did it because I care about you, because I love you. I love you."   
  
---   
  
The razor fell from Roger's hand, and I snatched it away from him. Carrying it with me, I opened the cupboard and reached for two towels, to wrap around his arms. Luckily, he hadn't gone too deep when he'd cut himself.   
  
Roger turned his face to me as I cleaned him up, and he looked more shocked than frightened. I didn't blame him, though. I don't think he really wanted to die. Maybe he just wanted to bleed.   
  
Lowering my gaze, I applied pressure. 


	5. Apologies

Mark's words echoed in my head. I whimpered, trying to make him look at me. I expected anger, something to rival my own rage, but when he lifted his head, his eyes were filled with disappointment.   
  
And then I knew what love really was.   
  
---   
  
"What?" I asked, as Roger's whole body relaxed, and he leaned down to rest his head on his legs, crying freely. "What?" He wouldn't answer me.   
  
Maybe it was the realization that he'd attempted suicide, I thought, as I found the gauze and started to bandage Roger's arms.   
  
---   
  
I waited until he was finished, and then I straightened up, staring at myself. Mark sighed and headed towards the kitchen, where he took a seat at the table. I followed him, unsure of what to say.   
  
"I'm sorry.."   
  
He cleared his throat.   
  
"Mark, I'm sorry.."   
  
There was a silence, and then he muttered, "Don't be." 


	6. Tea and Memories

Don't be? What kind of an idiot was I, telling Roger not to be sorry? He should be very sorry, he should hate himself, he should..   
  
I pushed away from the table and headed towards a counter. "Do you want some tea?"   
  
---   
  
I stared at Mark's back for several minutes. It felt wrong, like I should still be waiting for April to fade from my heart. Still, I knew that the April who had existed before.. she'd want me to be happy. If she couldn't love me herself, she'd want someone wonderful to take her place.   
  
He was definitely some kind of wonderful.   
  
I shuffled towards Mark, managing to wrap my arms around his waist despite the pain it caused me. He turned around, and I kissed the bridge of his nose, before searching his eyes.   
  
It seemed that all the answers to questions I'd never asked were hidden behind his eyelashes, and I pulled him close to me. "I love you, too."   
  
---   
  
When he told me that he loved me, I knew that it was true. A burden seemed to lift from his shoulders and fly away, like an angel. Everything about him changed there, in our kitchen, as the kettle whistled.   
  
---   
  
For the first time in my life, I truly believed that things would be alright. 


End file.
